Sanctuary of Sins

by Roger Kazanowski

  CHAPTER sixteen

  Anne knew whoever was involved in these radical plans would push the envelope, killing anyone in their way. After all, the two young bishops involved in the plot were found dead. With the identification of the group in Brussels, Brett would be able to provide backgrounds and other contacts that may be involved.

  “Good morning Brett,” Anne said into the phone, sipping her coffee.

  “Well my friend, you sure know how to make a commotion,” he said. “Seems you left the authorities in Brussels and Bruges mystified by the path of bodies you left behind. I assumed you’d be looking for a few more bad guys and could use a little help identifying them, so I already have my team working on leads. Want some help sent over directly?”

  Anne begrudgingly picked at her room service breakfast; fruit and toast. “I wouldn’t normally request any help, but in this case and with the timeframe I’m working on it’s probably best that you do,” she conceded at last.

  Brett’s tone changed; became serious. “Anne, you have to be careful. This time they know who you are.”

  She stacked strawberries onto the toast, her eyes unfocused. “I know.”

  “Hang tight and I’ll call you in a few.”

  Anne did just that. And in a few hours, Brett called and spoke quickly.

  “We’ve discovered the external influences. They’re a radical anti-Christian terrorist faction involved in coordinating attempts to eliminate the Catholic Church throughout the far east, including Korea, the Philippines and China. Once the pontiff passes away, they’ll try to sway the vote for the election of their own pope.”

  So, this was far more serious than any of them had imagined.

  “I’ll send you the details,” Brett concluded, and hung up.

  Anne began to interview Church employees on the premise that she was working on strategies to help clear up the pedophile priest problems. Many of the interviews were brief and unhelpful, but she was able to meet a priest who had been involved with the problem for a few years. He was Father Rousseau.

  “Father, as you’re aware, the pedophile issues are quite broad and being handled differently in each country. Our PR campaign has been open and honest. This policy seems to be working, as the Church is seeing an increase in attendance. Of course, some of this increase is also credited to the allowance of female priests and the support they’re receiving.”

  The old man waved his hand. “Ms. Lawrence, let’s move on from the pedophile issues. I’d like to talk about what happened in France with the two female priests. I’m aware that you have significant support from the highest reaches of the Church, which is… enviable. I assume your position probably crosses the line of PR guru, so let’s talk. Personally, I’m in favor of the female priest ruling, so let me speak to you frankly as both a friend and supporter. If what I’m about to tell you gets out, my safety will be at risk, but I find this important enough for the Church that I need to expose what I know.”

  Anne leaned forward, intrigued. She took out a recording device. “I can’t promise you full protection, but what I can promise is that this conversation isn’t leaving these walls. Since you’re being honest with me, let me tell you that we’re working diligently to find out who’s behind this. Any information you can offer is strictly confidential.”

  Father Rousseau nodded. “The two bishops that were found dead a few weeks ago used to be close friends and fully committed to the Church. Somewhere along the road, they were blackmailed or bribed, I’m guessing, and got involved with the wrong side. Before their deaths, I met with one of them for what I thought would be a casual lunch. I was informed about his involvement and the cardinal involved in implementing this terrible plot. It’s no secret that radical religions are trying to eliminate the Church in the far east. One of the countries that’s being pushed hard is the Philippines. Cardinal Sibico isn’t who we think he is. He was placed in the Church by outside influences and is in fact not a Catholic priest at all. My friend knew his life was at risk and decided to expose this information to me in case something were to happen.”

  “Excuse me Father, but what?” Anne frowned. “This isn’t where I thought we were heading. You’re talking about a senior cardinal that reports directly to the pontiff. If this is true, there could be thousands of priests whose lives are at stake. Not only that, but as the pope’s health is an issue, Cardinal Sibico could be in line to be voted into his office!”

  “Exactly. Please try and put an end to this plot—that is all I have to say. God bless you, Ms. Lawrence.” Father Rousseau got up and quickly left the room. Almost as if he were running for his life.

  CHAPTER seventeen

  The funeral was a frenzied blur of agonizing moments, all of them bleeding together into the same horrible nightmare. John held to his daughters the entire time—it seemed the only way to remain tethered to Earth. Charlotte and Shawne were there, along with Josi, Luci and Sherri. All the sweet little children, including his own, dressed in black and gray. It didn’t make any sense. How had this happened so suddenly? Images haunted John’s mind, completely at odds with each other: One moment, Maria was smiling and clasping his hand, walking along the pebble-strewn beach with wind in her hair;the next, she was shrunken and frail in a hospital bed, the EKG machine beeping rhythmically.

  “Dad,” Alka whispered.

  He snapped to attention, breaking the spell. He bent down. “Yeah, honey?”

  “Can we get McDonald’s after?”

  John’s mind went blank. McDonald’s? What was that supposed to mean? His wife was lying in a coffin up on a stage for everyone to look at. Her body there, but her heart doing nothing… nothing. Gone. The fact that fast food existed at all was suddenly confusing and upsetting to him. A riddle with no answer. He frowned, trying to focus on the question. Instead he focused on his little girl, her eyes red and rimmed with tears. She was confused as well, desperate for a sense of normalcy.

  “McDonalds?” he repeated.

  “Yes, please.”

  He nodded in understanding. She saw in his eyes that he knew. “Yes, honey. We’ll go after.”

  After.

  That word. What did it mean?

  He shook his head, lost. After? The idea that there would be an “after” to this horrid affair made him sick. A life that went on moving. Kids that wanted chicken nuggets. No Maria. Where was she now? Was she in the hereafter? Could she see them?

  “He said yes,” Alka whispered to Kayla. But Kayla didn’t smile, and John took some comfort in that. Being ten years old, she could understand his pain in a similar way. Alka was too young to grasp exactly what this all meant. But John could see that Kayla knew—she knew Mom wasn’t coming home with them, and that McDonald’s wouldn’t make this “after” any better.

  He hugged them closer, and tears dripped down his cheek.

  ✽✽✽

  John struggled to settle himself and his daughters into some kind of normalcy. He hadn’t touched a paintbrush in a several months, his creative insides empty. He spoke to Charlotte a couple of times a week and finally agreed to meet her for dinner.

  As John waited at the bar with a glass of wine, his mind blank as usual, Charlotte entered dressed in gaucho pants, a red blouse and black sweater. She certainly didn’t look like a cardinal of the Church. The owner of the restaurant, a close friend of John’s, made sure to seat them in the back, unexposed to other patrons.

  When John spotted her making her way toward him, he did not get up. “Charlotte,” he said weakly, feigning a smile.

  There was something different about Charlotte tonight. She wasn’t a cardinal at all, but a woman, stunning in makeup and perfume. John felt a bit like he did when they first met, something inside of him waking from a long slumber.

  “How are the girls doing?” she asked immediately. “And how are you doing?”

  She sounded like the woman he’d loved in the past.

  “We’re surviving, doing as well as can be expected, but I find moments w
here I’m in this… surrealistic state. Floating around. Lost. I haven’t had any desire to paint, any desire for anything, but I know that’ll come back. Thank you for being here, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte hesitated. She looked down, a curl falling into her face. “It will come back.”

  A long silence followed as they ate meekly. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather a shared time for contemplation. John’s memories of a life before losing Maria seemed like they came from another dimension—a faraway dream.

  “At least you have the girls,” Charlotte said at last. “You’re very blessed in that way.”

  John nodded. “They’re little life-savers. It’s too bad you never did have any of your own,” he said. “You really would have made an amazing mother.”

  Charlotte looked away, as if wounded.

  John tried to retrace his steps. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean… I know that must be complicated for you, being in the Church and all. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I was caught off guard was all. It’s flattering. You think I’d be a good mom? I’m not so sure…”

  John let out a sigh of relief, glad he hadn’t offended her. “Oh, I’m sure all right. In fact I know it. But hey, you’re also spared a hell of a lot of headaches. Sometimes I look back on my days before the kids and can’t believe how easy my life was,” he laughed. “I could stay up late, sleep in, paint all day and night. Now things are much different. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Kids are like that, Charlotte. They’re the best thing we have.”

  “Gosh, I know Shawne’s girls bring their share of headaches,” she said. “Especially as they become teenagers! But hey, that’s what teenagers are for, right? Inducing headaches in their parents?”

  “I don’t even want to think about that,” John mumbled, taking a sip of wine.

  “It’s coming for you,” Charlotte teased.

  John smiled. His eyes, his mouth, his heart. It was the first real smile he’d had in months. He held up his glass for a toast.

  “To kids,” he offered.

  CHAPTER eighteen

  Anne now had details that ran parallel with information received covertly from two other Vatican insiders. It was time to put her own plan in place. But as this was happening, news came out that the pope was in hospice. If he passed away soon, the cardinals would be sequestered in conclave voting for a new pope. Cardinal Sibico would be involved in that vote, and Anne wouldn’t be able to get to him.

  Though she only met Bishop Sanchez on rare occasion, it was time she request a meeting. That night they arrived in their normal room below the basilica.

  “How much time do you think we have?” Anne asked.

  Bishop Sanchez shrugged sadly. “One day, maybe two. His heart his failing.”

  “I believe Cardinal Sibico is the mastermind behind this entire plot. We have limited time to act on him.”

  “I’m aware of Cardinals Sibico’s involvement, as is the pontiff,” Bishop Sanchez said calmly.

  Anne recoiled in shock. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “Cardinal Cotint, who’s the dean of cardinals, made us aware of the problems with Cardinal Sibico just yesterday. This information arrived just before the pontiff went into a coma. He asked me to get you involved immediately. Tomorrow we’ll inform all the cardinals and arrange their visits to Vatican City. The funeral will last nine days, and the burial will most likely take place on the fifth day. The camerlengo—Cardinal Sibico—is the most important office during the transition. He has the authority to act for the pope in certain areas during this time. This particular office can control the property and monies of the holy see. Fortunately, he won’t have the power to make any changes during this period.

  “The conclave will begin 15 days after the pope’s death. During the conclave, the cardinals will live in the Domus Sanctae Marthae. All cardinals under 80 have the right to attend the conclave and vote for the new pope. There are currently 117 qualified cardinals. A vote to elect a new pope requires two-thirds of the votes. There can be as many as two votes in both the morning and the afternoon until a vote is completed. Any interaction with the cardinals during the vote is limited to medical, auditors and a small group of support staff. Whatever we do has to take place soon.”

  Anne shook her head, overwhelmed. “I’ll start with Cardinal Cotint. Can you arrange a meeting with him tomorrow? There are radical sanctions that will probably attempt to eliminate other female priests during the conclave, giving Cardinal Sibico more clout. My contacts in the U.S. have already been notified and are tracking potential assassins.”

  Bishop Sanchez nodded. “I’ll contact Cardinal Cotint and arrange a meeting tomorrow morning. Has to be early, as there will be eyes watching everywhere.”

  The two left the room, heading in opposite directions. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of one of the most trying times in the history of the Catholic Church. Hope I’m ready for it, Anne thought.

  ✽✽✽

  The next morning Cardinal Cotint arrived at the same room, where Anne and Bishop Sanchez were waiting.

  “Hello, Bishop,” he said with a polite nod. “Ms. Lawrence, it’s a pleasure meeting you.” He sat down between the two.

  “We appreciate you coming in, Cardinal,” Anne said. She focused on sounding casual, though her mind was racing.

  “Ms. Lawrence, I’m aware of what you accomplished in Belgium for our two priests. But now we’re faced with a much more important issue. Our pontiff is doubtful to live through the day. Cardinal Sibico has developed significant relationships with numbers of cardinals leading to the upcoming conclave. Though I have some of my own clout to work with, we must figure out a way to expose him before the votes are submitted. His election would create grave danger for female priests and the entire Church. How do we connect him to some of the events that have taken place?”

  Anne glanced at Bishop Sanchez before responding. “My contacts are working hard on hunting down individuals to begin their interrogations. The problem is: Who has he already convinced for his vote and how do we expose the issues? Let me call my contacts once we leave here and see what they’ve dug up. If we can figure out their entire plan, then maybe we can initiate some meetings between you and other cardinals you might trust. Can we meet again tonight?”

  The cardinal shook his head. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet with you anymore. But please keep your flow of information going with Bishop Sanchez. God bless you and God bless our pontiff.”

  As soon as Anne left the room, she made her way outside of the Vatican to a coffee shop; she wanted to make sure she was alone. Her only call would be to Brett.

  “I just left a meeting with Cardinal Cotint,” she said. “He’s well aware of the issues with the upcoming conclave. We have a short window to put a plan in place that exposes him and his associates prior to the vote, otherwise they’ll be locked in and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

  “Fine, I’ll take care of it. You’re a priority on the terrorists’ hit list, you know. You ought to keep a low profile. I’m working on getting you help.”

  “Thanks, but turns out it’s not necessary. I can handle this alone. If something happens to me, you’ll be updated—Bishop Sanchez is aware of you and the team.”

  She could hear the frustration in Brett’s sigh. “Alright. I’ll forward you a list of terrorists located in your area that we suspect are involved with Cardinal Sibico. Expect them to try and expedite their plan due to the imminent death of Pope Peter Paul. We believe there are around six of them.”

  “As soon as I receive your information, I’ll take care of the issue.”

  Brett sighed again, this time heavily. “I know.”

  CHAPTER nineteen

  “He’s with his maker now, Cardinal,” Bishop Sanchez said.

  Charlotte cried into the phone, although she wasn’t shocked by the news. Her biggest supporter, the head fisherman of over a billion Catholics worldwide, had passed aw
ay peacefully in his sleep. Though it was expected, it left a heavy sadness in Charlotte, the Vatican and the world.

  “And your Holiness,” the bishop went on, his tone gentle, “catch the next flight to Rome.”

  She sniffled. “But the funeral doesn’t start for several more days, sir?”

  “Yes, well, we need to talk with Cardinal Cotint about the upcoming conclave.”

  After booking her flight, she got in her car and went to the Sweetest Heart of Mary alone. In street clothes, with tears running down her face, she knelt in the pews of her beloved chapel and prayed like she’d never prayed before. She prayed for Peter Paul to have a comfortable ascendance into heaven, and for him to continue to take care of her and the Church from there.